Page 73 of Loud Unspoken Memories

I peek outside to make sure he’s still working, and then I pick up the lantern, walk over, and open the door.

It’s odd being in here now. The last time I was in this room, I thought Dallas had created everything. It makes me look at things in a different light. Upon closer look, the paintings all have initials in the lower right corner. PKM. Was this her profession, I wonder, or just a hobby?

My eyes fall on something I didn’t see last time. Dallas got those two large coolers from this room, maybe they were hiding what sits in the corner. Tears cloud my vision when I see theMoses basket. Inside it is a blanket, a stuffed elephant, and a pacifier.

This roomisa shrine to his family.

“What are you doing in here?”

I jump at his words. I turn and see him in the doorway, not happy that I’m in his private space.

“I’m sorry. Allie called and I—”

“Allie? What do you mean Allie called? She calledyou?My family doesn’t know who you are or even that you’re here.”

I hold out his phone. “She called you. The phone kept ringing over and over and I thought it might be an emergency, or your tow truck guy calling with news.”

He takes the phone from me a little too hastily. “You answered my phone? You’re just full of surprises today. What’s next, you want to go through my laptop? Do a deep dive on the internet?”

“Dallas, it’s not like that.”

“Please tell me what it’s like then.”

“How about you tell me?” I snap, suddenly fed up with his attitude. “Tell me why you came up here supposedly to live this reclusive life and get away from losing your wife and son. But the reality is you broughtthemwith you. I mean, there’s keeping mementos of your loved ones, and then there’s this.” I motion to all the artwork. “It’s like she’s still here and will walk in at any minute and pick up a sketch pad or paint brush. This is unhealthy, Dallas. You need to let people in. And you have to stop bottling it up inside. The pain isn’t going to go away until you face it. Until you talk about it.”

“What the hell do you know about my pain? Yeah, I get you’ve lost people. But until you lose the love of your goddamn life, and worse, your own flesh and blood child, you have no right to give me advice or even think you have any idea what I’ve been going through.”

“You think you have a corner on this market, Dallas Montana? You think nobody could ever understand the pain of losing a child? An infant?” I step forward and jab him in the chest with my finger. “Well, fuck you and your high horse, because guess what? Ihavelost a child. Her name was Alex. She was pink and perfect with ten fingers and ten toes, and I had eight incredible days with her. Eight days…” I swipe a tear from under my eye and suck in a deep breath. “On the ninth day, I woke up at seven in the morning and realized I’d slept all night. She hadn’t woken to eat. Before I even looked over in the bassinet, I knew what I was going to find. Week-old babies don’t sleep ten hours straight.” I wipe snot on the sleeve of his Yale sweatshirt. “It hurt. It hurt like hell, but I got through it. You know how? With the help of Charles and Asher and Bug and even Charlie. Being around people helped. Celebrating her birthdaystillhelps.”

He leans against the door jamb as if it’s the only thing holding him upright. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you’re still where I was. Two and a half years later, you’re where I was right after it happened.” I perch against the table. “After I lost Alex, my therapist told me that when you’re in hell, you just have to keep going until you find the exit. And with her help, I learned the only way out is through. But you… Dallas, you seemed to have set up camp in your purgatory.”

He pulls out the sole chair in the room and sits, shaking his head over and over.

“You’ll never find your exit if you continue to let fear have such a grip on you. What if I’d let fear keep me from climbing the tower? What if you’d let it stop you from jumping in the pond? Fear keeps you locked in a prison.This cabinis your prison.”

I feel the stab of his glare as he looks up at me. “You think I’m here because I’m afraid?”

“Of course you are. You think you came here to get away from them? Their memories? You did exactly the opposite. You brought them with you. Fear made you leave the town and the family you love. And fear is what keeps you from going back.”

“Okay, Ms. Psychoanalyst,” he huffs, clearly pissed. “What the hell do you think I’m afraid of?”

I hold my arms out to my side. “Me.”

He looks dumbfounded. “You?”

“Or someone like me. You’re afraid to open yourself up again, to feel what you felt for them. You’re afraid of getting hurt and losing people. Maybe like I was, you’re afraid that somehow you may have been responsible for their deaths. Maybe you’re punishing yourself by not letting anyone be a part of your life. Whatever it is, it all comes down to fear.”

He shakes his head, looking like he’s going to bite my entire head off. Tell me I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe even tell me to get the fuck out of his cabin and his life. But someone needed to say something.

He points to the door. “Get out of this room. And don’t come back.”

I nod and pass him, tears streaking my face. He doesn’t look at me. He just slams the door shut behind me. I’m surprised it stays on the hinges. I run over and flop down onto the bed, burying my head in a pillow as muffled sobs bellow out of me. I’m crying for him. For DJ. For Alex. I’m crying for everyone either of us have ever lost. But most of all, I’m crying because I know for sure, if there was any sliver of hope of us having a future, I just squashed it. By answering the call. Going in the room. Accusing him of things I had no right to say.

Sometime later, I hear him exit the room. He goes outside. Of course he goes outside. He chops wood even faster this time, grunting loudly with every pained swing.

I wipe my eyes. “Way to go, Marti.”

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